Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second.
people time air face waste precious cool smell grass
Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.
life change live possibilities inner-life heart memories words lost library feelings flower opportunities water imagine air understand alive things forever dust inside fresh part
I feel like someone breathed new air into my lungs. I am not Abnegation. I am not Dauntless. I am Divergent.
feel air
Change is in the air. This change reminds us that we are made and beautifully sculpted by the same power that orchestrates the change of season. Let this be the season you embrace and align yourself with this change.
life change power action success inspirational motivational air made embrace
As the sun rules the day and the moon governs the night, so too, we are connected by: the air that we breathe, light that we see and the darkness that follows. Life is too short to waste it on disagreements. Surely, we can all agree to disagree. So let us find a common ground, form a union and spread joy, happiness and freedom around the world for the benefit of you, me and the future generations to come.
rules life action happiness light future world joy darkness night day moon sun suspense find thriller air waste common generations form freedom benefit breathe short
The smell of dead fish lingered in the air, and excited flies darted from fish to fish lapping up the decay.
mystery adventure action fish air dead smell decay middle-grade
There's adventure in the air... And cake to be eaten.
life adventure cake air
Music gives color to the air of the moment.
music art moment color designer air
Any great art work revives and readapts time and space, and the measure of its success is the extent to which it makes you an inhabitant of that world - the extent to which it invites you in and lets you breathe its strange, special air.
work time success art creativity inspirational world transcendence aesthetics epiphany space special measure air strange great breathe
USURY: Everybody's looking for the job in which you never have to pay anyone their pound of flesh. Self-employed nirvana. A lot of artists like to think of themselves as uncompromising; a lot of management consultants won't tell you what they do until they've sunk five pints. I don't think anybody should give themselves air just because they don't have to hand over a pound of flesh every day at 5pm, and I don't think anyone should beat themselves with broken glass because they do. If you're an artist, well, good for you. Thank your lucky stars every evening and dance in the garden with the fairies. But don't fool yourself that you occupy some kind of higher moral ground. You have to work for that. Writing a few lines, painting a pretty picture - that just won't do it.
management dance writing work art kind good glass artist stars artists fool day moral broken air picture lucky hand nirvana flesh job garden painting fairies beat pretty give evening
I like a girl with a substantial bottom,' said Renoir, drawing in the air the size bottom he preferred.
art drawing girl air
What is lovely never dies, but passes into other loveliness, Star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air.
inspiration beauty art flower lovely air
What keeps earth air breathable? Not oxygen alone. The earth is a freer place to breathe in, every time you love without calculating a return -- every time you make your drudgeries and routines still more inefficient by stopping to experience the shock of beauty wherever it unpredictably flickers.
work time beauty art experience earth shock conservatism air place profit return love freedom breathe
At eight, he had once told his mother that he wanted to paint air.
art mother air paint
.. Indeed it is very true that, just as the finest air in the world is vulgarized beyond all bearing once the public has taken to hum it and the street organs to play it, so the work of art that has appealed to the sham connoisseurs, that is admired by the uncritical, that is not content to rouse the enthusiasm of only a chosen few, becomes for this very reason, in the eyes of the elect, a thing polluted, commonplace, almost repulsive.
content work art true world reason play eyes public air taste enthusiasm discrimination thing
And half of learning to play is learning what not to playand she's learning the spaces she leaves have their own things to sayand she's trying to sing just enough so that the air around her movesand make music like mercy that gives what it is and has nothing to proveshe crawls out on a limb and begins to build her homeand it's enough just to look around and to know that she's not aloneup up up up up up up points the spire of the steeplebut god's work isn't done by godit's done by people
people work music art transcendence learning wind integrity play mercy air things sing
A story is alive, as you and I are. It is rounded by muscle and sinew. Rushed with blood. Layered with skin, both rough and smooth. At its core lies soft marrow of hard, white bone. A story beats with the heart of every person who has ever strained ears to listen. On the breath of the storyteller, it soars. Until its images and deeds become so real you can see them in the air, shimmering like oases on the horizon line. A story can fly like a bee, so straight and swift you catch only the hum of its passing. Or move so slowly it seems motionless, curled in upon itself like a snake in the sun. It can vanish like smoke before the wind. Linger like perfume in the nose. Change with every telling, yet always remain the same.
perfume deeds writing change real lies heart story wind breath person sun listen blood air hard alive linger fly white skin nose images books smoke ears storyteller
I love the place; the magnificent books; I require books as I require air.
reading knowledge air place love books
And of course I'm in the press all the time. So many books have been written about me; Into thin air, up in the air, Gone with the wind-
time press air written books thin
Books are meat and medicineand flame and flight and flowersteel, stitch, cloud and clout, and drumbeats on the air.
flight air cloud meat books
No writing is wasted. Did you know that sourdough from San Francisco is leavened partly by a bacteria called lactobacillus sanfrancisensis? It is native to the soil there, and does not do well elsewhere. But any kitchen can become an ecosystem. If you bake a lot, your kitchen will become a happy home to wild yeasts, and all your bread will taste better. Even a failed loaf is not wasted. Likewise, cheese makers wash the dairy floor with whey. Tomato gardeners compost with rotten tomatoes. No writing is wasted: the words you can't put in your book can wash the floor, live in the soil, lurk around in the air. They will make the next words better.
inspiration writing home live inspirational inspirational-quotes happy book writers words writing-process wild bread air taste cheese soil writing-advice books kitchen
This is a book. It is a book I found in a box. I found the box in the attic. The box was in the attic, under the eaves. The attic was hot and still. The air was stale with dust. The dust was from old pictures and books. The dust in the air was made up of the book I found. I breathed the book before I saw it; tasted the book before I read it.
reading book air pictures found box read hot dust made finding books
As the hours crept by, the afternoon sunlight bleached all the books on the shelves to pale, gilded versions of themselves and warmed the paper and ink inside the covers so that the smell of unread words hung in the air.
words sunlight air smell afternoon inside ink paper books shelves
The air was heavy with the smell of leather and dust, of old parchment and binding glue. It smelled of secrets.
secrets air smell dust books heavy
He walked among the bookstore shelves, hearing Muzak in the air. There were rows of handsome covers, prosperous and assured. He felt a fine excitement, hefting a new book, fitting hand over sleek spine, seeing lines of type jitter past his thumb as he let the pages fall. He was a young man, shrewd in his fervors, who knew there were books he wanted to read and others he absolutely had to own, the ones that gesture in special ways, that have a rareness or daring, a charge of heat that stains the air around them.
daring man past book excitement fall special air young handsome hand read hearing pages bookstore bookstores books shelves heat
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